


Pitiful

by theboxesstatic



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:08:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboxesstatic/pseuds/theboxesstatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader finds Flowey to 'have a talk' with him, all on accident -- ( Mid Game Pacifist )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pitiful

You stare. Stare at the large door before you. In bold and blocky yellow letters, the words 'P U L L' were written on it. You touched the word, then looked down at your finger tips that were now stained the sunshine yellow color. You rub your fingers together, the paint feeling grainy and chalky.

 

Glancing up and down the large door in front of you, you found that there was no door handle on the door. You wedged your foot under the door and used leverage to pull the door forward. It easily swung forward with a loud “Creeeeeek.”

 

The sight in front of you made you swallow your breath.

 

Behind the door you were greeted by nothing. Simply nothing. Besides nothing, there was blackness, extending infinitely. The vibe the room game off made your stomach drop. The room dripped with a sickening, haunting, despair and bad things to come. Not to mention the cold, it was so cold within the darkness.

 

“Turn back!” Your head screamed at you, repeatedly. But your feet carried you forward, as though you had no control over them.

 

The door closed behind you with a “S L A M ” that shook the walls of the room.

 

Sweat beaded on your forehead despite the freezing air. Your hands quickly went to hold onto your arms in an act to shield off the cold, but also, because you were mortified. Dread filling you to the brim.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

The voice echoed around the room. Bouncing its question against the walls.

 

The owner of the voice was a flower, embedded in a green patch of grass on the floor. Though they were turned away from you and looking at the ground, they knew you had walked in.

 

“How did you find this place?”

 

You opened your mouth to speak. But could not find your voice. Your words were stuck in your tightened throat. Fear shaking your body. With your feet planted firmly on the floor. Like a deer in the headlights.

 

You could see your smokey breath in front of your face every time you exhaled.

 

“It doesn't matter anyways," they breathed out.

 

They turned, looking you up and down with a disgusted look on their face. The creases in the lines of their face deepening once they registered their thoughts. “Oh, it's y o u.” They spat the words out like venom on their tongue.

 

The air tensed around you as the empty room was filled with not despair but now rage.

 

“I should have killed you while I could have... But now, I'm weak,” they hissed out the last sentence. They made a lunge at you, but due to being rooted into the ground they didn't go any where. Yet, you still flinched. They shrunk back into their spot.

 

“Have you come here to mock me?” Their face twisted, twisted until it was upside down. The flower now looked at you, upside down with its petals drooping. “Or step on me?” They quickly snapped right-side-up again.

 

They grinned, gnashing their teeth. Then smirked. Their smirk faded into a smile. And then a frown. “This isn't funny.”

 

You held yourself, rubbing your thumb over your bicep tentatively. You shuffled your feet. They looked down at your feet as you did so.

 

“Pitiful. You're pitiful!” They yelled.

 

“Pitiful....”

 

“I'm pitiful....” They whispered.

 

They looked down at the ground, eyes darting around at the patch of green grass in front of them. They quickly turned away, their back now facing you.

 

“You should just go.”

 

You heard the door slowly creak back open, you could feel the warm air waft back into the cold room, easing your goosebumps. You look down at the flower before you, your fearful expression easing. 

 

“Flowey,” you said softly, finally finding your voice again.

 

The yellow petaled flower cringed a little as you said his name.

 

A heartbreaking sadness hung over the room. Making it harder to say what you wanted to say.

 

“I hope you will be okay.”

 

Your words were greeted with silence that made your bones ache. You took a step backwards. Turned and looked towards the door that was now open. Light streamed in soft beams through the exit. The light that penetrated the unforgiving darkness flooded your veins with hope and determination. You walked almost decisively out of the room. Relief washing over you as you stood in the door frame.

 

Flowey called out your name, in a hushed voice that would not have been heard if you were not listening.

 

“Don't come back,” he said. And the door closed behind you.


End file.
